For Christmas this year I bought myself a small camera, a Nikon COOLPIX S5100. Now, I’ll never challenge my photographer son-in-law Robin in the picture taking department, but I do enjoy snapping photos. A wall in my office is devoted to framed snapshots of special places I’ve visited, usually to research books.

For my Grandmother Martha’s story I plan to offer old family photos and possibly some new photos as well. Robin has several of the farm he has offered to let me use, and he’ll take more as needed. In one of the book’s interludes describing my research into Martha’s life, I describe a white hawk that visited me early in the process. The creature was doing aerial dances outside my window and took one pass so close I could look right into its eye. Then it zipped up the road toward the upper barn. Oh, to have a camera then! But in lieu of a picture of the hawk, I thought we might do something with the road and the barn.

Just to give Robin an idea I thought I might frame one out to show him, like this one:

Some days Robin’s dog comes to visit because he knows I take a walk every day. So I take him with me. He was visiting when I first went to frame the shot. And what does he do? He hurries over, right into the frame, and looks for all the world as if he’s posing. I got excited and took a bunch of photos, but I like this one best:

Maybe a photographer’s dog just knows what to do when you bring out a camera.

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One of the changes that came out of the last revision on the story of my great-great grandmother is the title. Previously called Two Women Across Time: A Pioneer’s Dream to Keep, it is now Martha: A Pioneer Woman’s Journey to a Place of Her Own. The new title better reflects the story’s new focus.

It’s really Martha’s story far more than mine. Always was. But more so now. While I love owning the farm she bought so long ago, my road here cannot possibly compare with hers.

More on all this later, but I wanted to provide the update. Of course that could change yet again. With all the revising it seems to be a living, breathing work.

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Life drew me away from my new blog longer than expected. But I’m back. Here on the farm, so are the elk. My son-in-law Robin did his photographer’s magic on these, giving a sense of the wildness of this place and the wonderful creatures that share it with us. In my latest book I describe a brief experience of my own with the elk that roam through this land.

During a good part of my absence from the blog I was busy cutting words on that book, Two Women Across Time. This memoir was too long for its market at 112,320 words. I needed to get it down to 90,000. A major task. How could I do that without damaging the story? In order to maintain the book’s integrity and color, I couldn’t axe it. I had to use a scalpel.

What about that description of my experience with the elk? Just one paragraph. I was trying to cut everything that didn’t move the story forward. Was that short segment vital? I had to be ruthless. I cut it. Then put it back. Cut it again. I asked myself what it did for the book. Discussed it with readers.

Chapters alternate between my perspective and my Grandmother Martha’s. Each of mine opens in one special place on the farm. The next chapter from Martha’s perspective opens in that same place. The farm is what binds the two of us together. And it binds these two parts of the book together. In a sense the farm becomes a character in the book, and I try to develop that character, as I would any human character, so the reader will know it better.

But I had to get the word count down.

In the cutting process I did global searches of filler words and chopped them (thanks to Debbie Burke from one of my Montana critique groups for that suggestion). I discovered a few wordy habits of mine that I’d never noticed before. Cut words there. I slashed several scenes that were better summarized. Proceeding through the book’s pages, I began cutting phrases and sentences more ruthlessly because the words weren’t dropping fast enough. I was getting too close to the end with too many words left. I came to a scene that didn’t read well. I couldn’t get the language to work for me, and in a burst of inspiration realized this was one more I could summarize and I wouldn’t have to edit the pesky language. Snip. 580 words. I was going to make it.

As I watched the words fall away I wondered if I could save the elk segment. If I could cut enough maybe I could bring it back. I calculated what I needed. Continuing toward the end, I kept watching the numbers at the lower left of my Word document. Closer. Closer. Finally. I was there. I had cut enough. The elk were back. And yes, I think they belong in the story. They are a part of the character of the farm. Part of the essence of our story.

I’m happy to say I cut more than 22,000 words. The book is now less than 90,000 and it’s better than it was before. Tighter. Fewer redundant scenes. The color and integrity remain. And the elk.

A couple of days ago I walked up the hill from my house, up to the highest point on the property. There I can look down the steep slope on the far side to the river as it snakes its way around the hills on its way to the ocean. One tall snag rises up from that sharp incline, a favorite perch of bald eagles. When I came in sight of the snag I saw one of the mighty birds resting on a scraggy branch. I raised my arms in greeting. It turned its gleaming white head to look at me, then flew, long wings flapping in near slow motion as it ventured out across the gorge. On my way back down the hill I stopped and smiled. A herd of elk grazed near the tree-lined crest above my house. That eagle and these elk were the first I’d seen in many months. I had the strongest feeling all was right with the world.

I’ve had a few elk encounters since moving back to the farm, and I’ll share one or two later that didn’t make it into the book. For now, just letting you know we’re back.

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Hello, and welcome to my new blog. I write books, using the ancient art of storytelling to offer a glimpse into other lives, both real and imagined, following strong women through history to inspire today’s women to be all that we are.

In this blog I’ll talk about writing, about history and the women who live it, and about the people and places they love. Or whatever else strikes my fancy.

My focus now is my newest book, Two Women Across Time: A Pioneer’s Dream to Keep. Four years ago when I took over the farm that’s been in my family since my great-great grandmother bought it in 1868, I knew I wanted to write our unique story. A woman bought this farm for the family. Now another woman in the family owns and operates the place. It’s one of the few Century Farms in Oregon named for a woman. Having another woman owner, bracketing the generations, makes our story even more unusual.

I grew up on this farm, hearing about my pioneer ancestors who crossed the plains to Oregon in the days of the great westward migration in this country. My sister and I would act out pioneer stories in play, but I usually assumed the role of a man—or his horse. These lives seemed much more vital somehow than those of the women. I didn’t realize we had a role model for women in our own pioneer family.

I don’t remember when I learned that Martha had bought this family farm on the Oregon frontier after her husband was killed. Sometime in the late 1960s or early 1970s my parents set a plaque on their dining room buffet declaring the “Martha A. Maupin Farm” a Century Farm. I took a certain pride in knowing it was named for a woman, but I still didn’t know her story. I knew her husband Garrett was killed while hauling freight when a wagon full of wool overturned and smothered him, and I knew their oldest son Cap, only eleven years old at the time, was driving the wagon. That’s about it.

Meanwhile, others in the family were searching, digging through courthouses and gleaning information from old-timers. Another thing was happening in the country. The women’s movement prompted others to seek out stories of women. The West’s great story of the bold pioneer crossing a continent had already been told and told. How brave the men, how great their challenges. Now researchers and writers were turning their focus to the women who followed those men into this glorious wilderness. Women faced their own challenges and showed great bravery themselves.

Thanks to the work of cousins and strangers, the framework for Martha’s story was emerging before I began my own search. Shortly after moving to the farm I sat at my computer and googled her name, not really expecting to find anything. How thrilling when sites popped up with her name in bold. I also found books about westering women, as well as a series of books presenting diaries of women on the Oregon Trail, and more. Great resources. I connected with cousins I’d never met, including a third cousin, Linda Maupin Noel, another of Martha’s great-great granddaughters, who lives just forty miles away. She had dug out documents with information none of the family seemed to be aware of, and she generously passed along reams of information.

With so much at my fingertips I began to get a picture of Martha in my mind. But to write the book I wanted to see through her eyes, walk in her shoes. To do that I chose to present her scenes in fictional form, while wrapping my own segments around hers in simple narrative. Though I have a journalism background, I’ve been writing novels for several years, so I used that experience to fill in the gaps I couldn’t possibly know. Her story took hold of me and carried me with her on that heroine’s journey to this farm, impacting me more than I ever expected.

The book is complete. This and a few more of my stories are highlighted on the “Books” page of my website. I’ve been pitching Two Women Across Time to agents and editors, gaining interest, and will hopefully make a connection soon to have it published and available to readers. Then, either through traditional publishing or one of many other publishing options available today, the others will follow.

I’ll keep readers updated on this blog. Thank you for stopping by. Please come back again sometime. I’d love to hear from you.

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